“How I struggled and toiled, sowing by day, reading, studying by night.  Finding Racine, Euripides, and Shakespeare in the library, I perused them carefully, and accidentally I discovered my talent.  The ladies of the house on one occasion had private theatricals, and the play was one with which I chanced to be familiar.  At the last rehearsal, on the night of the play, one of the young ladies was suddenly seized with such violent giddiness, that she was unable to appear in the character she personated, and in the dilemma I was summoned.  So successful was my performance that I saw the new path opening before me, and began to fit myself for it.  I gave every spare moment to dramatic studies, and was progressing rapidly when all hope was crushed.

“Cuthbert’s birthday came; days, weeks, months rolled by, and I wrote one more passionate prayer for recognition; pleading that at least he would allow me to see him once again, that he would just once look at the lovely face of his child; then if he disowned both wife and child we would ask him no more.  How I counted the weeks that crawled away! how fondly I still hoped that now, being of age and free, he would fulfil his promise!

“You were two years and a half old, and I went one Sunday to visit you.

“How well I recollect your appearance on that fatal day!  Your bare pearly feet gleaming on the floor over which I guided your uncertain steps, as you tottered along clinging to my finger, your dimpled neck and arms displayed by the white muslin slip my hands had fashioned, your jetty hair curling thick and close over your round head, your small milk-white teeth sparkling through your open lips, as your large soft violet eyes laughed up in my face!—­so glad you were to see me!  You had never seemed so lovely before, and I knelt down and hugged you, my darling.  I kissed your dainty feet and hands, your lips and eyes so like Cuthbert’s, and I know as I caressed you my heart swelled with the fond pride that only mothers can understand and feel, and I whispered, ’Papa’s baby!  Papa’s own darling!  Cuthbert’s baby!’

“It was harder than usual to quit you that day; you clung to me, nestled close to me, stole your little hand into my bosom, and finally fell asleep.  When I laid you softly down in your low truckle-bed, the tears would come and hang on my lashes, and while I lingered, passing my hand over your dear pretty feet, I determined that if Cuthbert did not come, or write very soon, I would take you and go in search of him.  What man could shut his arms and heart against such a lovely babe who owed him her being?